Stupid with the tired

A good friend of mine's Mom died last night, somewhat unexpectedly, so I was over there until 3:00 a.m. When I left, trying to figure out where my keys were, I wished I were a better person, that I could have made myself stay with her until the cab came to take her to the airport. But three nights with far too little sleep was just too much for me. God, this situation is so awful. I didn't know what to say to my step-sisters last fall when their father died, and I don't know what to say to C. I can't imagine that feeling, don't want to until I have to. It's the kind of thing that really makes you question being so far away from your family, weighing the worth of proximity vs. the drawbacks of place.

The lyrics meme is going around again, and I love it but I am TERRIBLE at it. I have lines of dialogue from 20 years ago in my head, I have lines of fic, of poetry, of novels and bad textbooks. I've got conversations, and pregnant pauses and quips and commercial jingles and the punchline to a slew of bad jokes and dirty jokes, but give me a song lyric without the music and I'm lost among the clover. If offered the reverse, if offered the musical phrasing from the same song, I can fill in the lyrics, but apparently, without the melody, I'm lyric deaf. And lyrics are important to me, they're the heart of the song. I find most electronica pointless because it doesn't have it's own lyrical set. Classical music less so because it tends to tell a story in different ways, but if it comes down to it, I'm still going to choose something with lyrics, even if the lyrics are in a language I don't understand.

I also tend to think of lyrics to the entire song, as opposed to lyric snippets being pulled from their whole. I think, in part, it's a distinction between lyrics and poetry because poetry makes it's own rhythm and pop music makes it's own text, but that text isn't complete until the right texture is added, the right nuance in the way the words counter balance the sound of melody and harmony. It's why Bob Dylan's poetry sounds like cracked out psychobabble and his lyrics sound like truth. He's a brilliant songster, but he's not much of a poet.

I also find that frequently in a song, a particular line will jump out at me, that I'll wait the whole song for that line, will immediately fall silent until it's over (much like I do while watching a show or a movie, waiting for that punchline, that speech, etc.) I'll replay Fake Plastic Trees over and over again for the "And if I could be who you wanted If I could be who you wanted All the time, all the time" which means nothing without the rest of the song, and really means nothing if you don't listen to it after High and Dry and if you don't pause and eventually listen to The Bends.

And Hallelujah for the last phrase:

Maybe there's a God above
And all I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It's not a cry you can hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

And you know, there's a reason that Jeff Buckley's version works best, and my theory is that it's the sigh at the beginning. It's the way he knows, going in, how much this song is going to hurt.

And First day of my life for this:
"Remember the time you drove all night
Just to meet me in the morning" and I'm not sure why.

And this section in Pavement Tune:
You see I want my life to make more sense
I want my life to make amends
I want my life to make more sense to me

I want my life to make more sense
I want my life to make more sense to me

So let me take you by the hand
And lead you through this troubled mind
You said yourself we had a plan
To get us all back to the line
We talk about it everyday
But we keep forgetting what it was we came to say
Now don't we

Just hits everything right, it hits arc and melody, phrasing and ferocity, and it's nothing without the music. Like that moment in Helpless where everything is soft, and knifing, where all you can feel is longing when you here the phrasing with the lyrincs woven through like embroidery. Of God is A Bullet, when her voice growls into the chorus.

They're inseperable, even Dylan, inseperable form the music because the music backs it up, says yeah this may sound trite, or contrived, but when I'm there with my own muscle to curl and flow, it transcends.

Watched Gilmore Girls and laughed my ass off because apparently Paris and Doyle really are taking Krav Maga. I've done those same knee things and I hate them!!

Memes

So very tired, and trying to pay attention and figure out what I need to do at work, so:

You post a topic, list, category, whatever, in my comments section. (examples: "5 favorite episodes of (some show you know I watch)" or "Top 5 BPAL scents" or even "5 best snacks ever") Then in a separate post (or not) I'll reply to the comment and post the answers to all your Top 5 ideas, according to me. Then you post this offer in your own journal. Or not.

Although I haven't actually posted any requests for anyone else.

And two, stolen from sophia_helix:

01. Do I have a distinct style of writing?
02. If so, what exactly is it that defines my style?
03. Would you say my stories follow a certain theme?
04. Is there anything you feel I ought to improve or change?
05. Does my style (if I have one) remind you of anyone else?
06. Judging from whatever writing of mine that you've seen, what do you think is/are my strength(s)?
07. What do you think are my weaknesses?

I also owe drabbles to ch1pper and deani_bean for their fabulous icons and I will do those!! Promise.

And rubberneck joined me on the darkside, writing several sections for the cofax7's Birthday Crack!Fic! which I will include and post when I get home. One of the really lovely things about having Feldman write something for this is that having written a gazillion pages together already, she somehow knows exactly what I want to see, even if I don't know it myself:) All of the contributing writers have been fabulous, and a joy, but it's like visiting the inside out of one's own brain sometimes to see what Feldman comes up with. It's also far easier to convey to her what I need written because she's used to coasting on my brain waves, on that feedback loop of text, texture and idea. It's a different sort of pleasure than having the other wonderful writers send me stuff. That in itself is a rich and sparkly surprise as well:)

The apocalyse may now commence

Dude, not only am I going to close my eyes and to to sleep in about three minutes (ignore the time stamp, it's really 11:48 p.m.), but I actually posted to farscapefriday for the first time in forever! Yeah.

One of leadensky's requests for the wishlist challenge was Collateral Damage. What happens to the folks caught in the wake of the bad luck that follows the Moya crew like a plague of space locusts? I love this idea, and I can see how easy it would be to turn this into a full fledged story, but I wanted to see how much I could convey from the outline, from the reactions. More than I expected, I think, and less than I needed.

So, Season 2. PG.

( Fault Line )

Got home in time to watch 2/3 of Earl. "Karma doesn't have fists." God I love this show. So much love, it's unnatural. And much of that love is rooted in Jason Lee's eyebrows.